The snow's stitched with happiness.

Orin Takekuro · 02-13-2011, 12:53 AM

[html]

Word Count→803 :: Read only. Yay for co rank anticipation!

The snow fell blinding winter white. But it did not just fall, no. It raced, it whipped, sometimes it soared. Riddled with chaos, sometimes the ice flecks got confused and fell up instead of down. The world was magnetized, the snow became metal, it clung to everything yet grew shy, whisked away from a thing in a moment's notice. It peppered the air and blinded the wolf so that he could no longer see his own nose anymore. It assaulted the ears and even hours after finding shelter you could still hear the steady ring of the powder's violation. It was a terrible thing. It was a magnificent thing. And it taught us all just how powerless we are in this world... unless we stand together.

Orin paused for a moment and leaned back, dropping the pen into the crease of the book and massaging her writing hand. She was tucked away in a corner in Sky's living room, the rest of the Cercatori refugees all either sleeping or talking low so as not to disturb those who rested. Outside the snowstorm raged on.

She felt a twinge in her belly and knew it was not from hunger. Her hand fell to her stomach and rested there for a moment, feeling the gentle nudges from the puppies inside. The unborn puppies had been so active ever since the snowstorm started. Orin thought she felt them once or twice before, but now the little things squirmed about as though ready to come dance in the snow. “Calm down now, little ones,” she crooned softly to her belly. “You still have a while yet.” Although she could not tell for certain, it was as though the movement of one spurred that in the other, and they would flare up into great bouts of wriggling inside of her. Her pups were strong. She wondered how many there would be.

After a moment, and still in the company of her stretching unborn babies, Orin picked up the pen and put it back to paper.

This snowstorm is a terrible thing, but perhaps it is not without its own silver lining. We now live in an age where, whilst we do still love our dear, irreplaceable pack, sometimes this writer wonders if we are as close as we once were. As close as we were before the virus, before we were Luperci. What was that time like? Were we as dull-witted as we were made out to be by human scientists? Or did we just live differently back then? One thing is for certain, there was no life for a wolf if not for the pack. And one thing is still certain today. There is no life here if not for Cercatori D'Arte.

She wanted to add more, but suddenly her thoughts were all muddled. The pups inside of her had calmed and she sat for a moment, worried to move so as not to disturb them, but sleep was heavy on her eyes. The aspiring historian waited a few moments more as though another great muse would come to her, but it did not. It was time for sleep.

Reluctant to part from her work, Orin mulled over the pages she had written today and the pages she had written in the past. The account of Cercatori's pack history was coming together beautifully, and she could not ebb the pride that swelled in her chest when she reviewed the log. It was still a thing in the making, something that would never be complete, something that would eternally grow. She smiled softly as she wondered if perhaps, one day, one of her little pups would take over this task from her.

Slowly, carefully, Orin closed the tome and stood up. “What will you be like?” She wondered to her belly. Would they be writers, like her? Or musicians, like their father? Or would they be something completely different, entirely? Dancers, or singers, or sculptors, or painters? Or maybe they would have no interest in art at all, and this realization did not even bother Orin. Maybe they would be hunters, or farmers. They could even be cats, for all I care. All that matters to me is that they are my babies.

She couldn't help but giggle softly to herself as she moved to the lounge and stretched out, pulling her cloak over her and deflating beneath its comforting warmth.

Cats, she giggled again as her eyelids slipped closed. I'm going to have kittens. Or maybe little dragons. Gargoyles. Trolls. But won't they be such pretty little trolls... Was that bump on her head really doing it to her or what? No. It was just Orin's imagination, ripe with wonder as her eyelids slid closed and sleep carried her off, giggling, into another world.

Table made by Kiki! Image credit here.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?